Five Tattoos
by Mimiminaj
Summary: Stiles doesn't understand why everybody is obsessing over basketball lately. Yes, they made it to the elite eight. That doesn't mean Stiles should be subjected to talking about the team star, Derek Hale, all the time. That is, until he meets a particularly gorgeous specimen shooting hoops on his walk back from class. Suddenly he's very, very thankful for the basketball hysteria.


AN - I don't know much about basketball nor Berkley, so any mistakes can be credited to my artistic vision : ). Also, major kudos to the people who know the song that inspired this fic (it's the title!).

* * *

"No. I don't get what all the fuss is about. Yes it's exciting that we're going to elite eight. Yes everybody loves basketball now. No I don't want to go."

"Stiles. Seriously, I'm not giving you a choice. The team is coming back today and we _are_ going to go cheer them on. There's a rally and everything."

"Scott, I don't need to watch a shit-ton of guys being drooled over for walking off of a bus. They probably hate all of us anyway! They just woke up from naps, and then they get screamed at repeatedly. They're probably like, would this crowd please just shut the fuck up because my head is pounding. See, I actually care about the team, Scott. Why can't you be more understanding to our players? Why don't you care?"

Scott stutters for a bit before stamping his foot. Stiles couldn't help but to laugh; for the two of them being freshmen in college, Scott could still be quite childish sometimes.

"That didn't make sense! You were just throwing words together!"

"It did Scott, it really did. Now go away. I'm about to kill this dragon."

Stiles heard Scott grunt and saw him walk over to the TV. He put his index finger on the power button and held it there. Stiles immediately narrowed his eyes.

"You wouldn't."

"Let's go."

"I'll kill you."

"I'll kill _you_."

Stiles threw his hands up in the air and dropped the controller on the bed.

"I seriously hate you so much right now."

* * *

The cheering and the screaming and the oohing and the aahing were exactly what Stiles had expected it to be; very, very annoying. He stood next to Scott and a few other people from his floor as the first of the buses pulled into the parking lot. The students had cleared a path, not unlike the red carpet, for the players to walk into the stadium.

When the doors slid open, it was the coach who first walked out. He was a tall and round dude, with thin grey hair covering his face. He was a legend. Stiles couldn't help but compare him to his coach back home, and the difference was undeniably gigantic. The crowd exploded. Coach waved and smiled before turning around and pointing to the door, topped it off with a bow.

From there, players started pouring out. With each new person, a roar of the crowd commenced. Sometimes Stiles could make out the names being screamed; other times he had no idea.

"Okay, this is pretty exciting," he whispered to Scott.

The cheering died down after what seemed like the last player excited. Except, it wasn't a casual quietness, it was deliberate. Stiles looked toward the last player, already far enough away from the bus that nobody else should be coming out, before his ears picked up on something.

Der-ek. Der-ek. Der-ek.

It was a chant, and it was getting louder and louder. Before Stiles had a chance to look back toward the bus, the crowd exploded. People were throwing their hands up and in the general commotion of things Stiles could no longer see any member of the team.

"Who's Derek?" He leaned over and whispered to Scott.

Scott, who quickly gave him a you-can't-be-serious look, just shook his head.

"The team captain. Also one of the best players in the Golden Bear's history. He's the guy that scored the winning shot last week? _The shot to get us into the elite eight_."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Okay, sorry Mr. grumpy pants. Should we go inside?"

"Inside? No. Come on. The stadium is full, probably has been since mid-day. We would have had to have been here at like noon. Seriously, did you go on Facebook at all this weekend?"

"First, lose the tude. Second, are we going to go eat now?"

"Well duh."

* * *

The commotion about the game didn't end on Sunday. Stiles had to endure a dinner full of his floor mates going on and on about the players (Scott was right, this Derek guy was a legend), hearing about it in the halls, and even in the study den while he was trying to study. All on Sunday.

On Monday, his English 252 class took a break just to discuss the different plays that happened during Saturday's game, and their odds for winning come this Saturday. He tried to get Mark, one of his friends that lived down the hall, to play Halo, only to find that he was re-watching the past game. To top it off, he once again tried to go to the study den to finish a paper and was promptly subjected to an earful of talk about the game.

"I'm not even nervous," Stiles overheard, biting his pencil and praying to anybody who would listen that he could find some concentration. "I mean, the odds are like 1 to 3."

"I think it will boil down to whether or not they can get Lahey and Hale to behave. If they pull half the shit they did last game, they'll be benched."

"Hale isn't the problem," the voice got a bit angry. "He made one foul and that was it. The other guy was definitely asking for it. It's Lahey who has the anger issues."

"I heard he was abused by his dad."

"I heard he killed his dad."

"I know I heard that too. Somebody was saying he chopped him up and left him there. Nobody has been in the house since – "

"If nobody has been in the house," Stiles spoke up, beginning to cram all his stuff back into his backpack. "Then I don't think it's possible for anybody to know anything. Which, ridiculous. That's a stupid rumor that doesn't need repeating. "

He walked out of the den without a backwards glance. He didn't know those guys and probably would never see them again. He had tried studying in the den of the floor below him in the vein attempt to escape _the craze _(which is what Stiles had nicknamed this whole phenomenon), which was clearly the wrong thinking. It was everywhere.

Tuesday was better. Stiles usually hated Tuesday's, because he had two three hour labs that left him getting back to the dorm around 7 pm. But the labs also restricted all talk about baseball, so Tuesdays suddenly didn't seem to bad. Practically beautiful, even.

* * *

He was on his walk back from lab when he felt his phone buzz.

_Oh my god avoid the dorms. Joe and Trav just threw up everywhere. – _**Scott**

_What?! It's 6:26? AND a Tuesday? How are they that drunk?_

_Their frat had some event. Idk. But it reaks._

_Fine. I'll b lib._

He sighed, changing courses and deciding to cut through some alleyways to get to the library faster. He was still on his phone when he felt something hard hit his feet.

It was a basketball. Stiles couldn't help but roll his eyes. If anything had to hit his legs during the week of _the craze_, it had to be a damn basketball.

Stiles looked around quickly, instantly zeroing in on the only other person around.

He almost dropped his phone. The guy he was looking at was gorgeous. He was a bit taller than Stiles, with jet black hair and a five o'clock shadow that did very naughty things to Stiles' libido. The guy had on a tight black t-shirt, and his arm muscles were bulging.

"Umm. Yes, so, you probably want this basketball back. Umm, here!"

Stiles quickly leaned down, grabbed it, and walked it over to the guy. He felt very intimidated, because the guy was looking at him very apprehensively. Almost like Stiles was about to pounce on him. Huh. Weird.

Gorgeous-alleyway-guy took the basketball carefully from Stiles hands and gave him a nod. He didn't say anything, so Stiles naturally felt like filling the silence.

The alleyway wasn't extremely wide, but it wasn't narrow either. It looked like it was probably between two apartment buildings, and left enough space for a car to drive through easily. Lodged a bit up on one of the walls was a worn down basketball hoop.

"Odd place to be shooting hoops, dude. Do you know there's a court like a block and a half that way?"

Gorgeous-alleyway-guy-please-just-give-me-a-name raised a single eyebrow, now looking at Stiles as if he had just asked if he was in America.

"What? I'm just saying, if your experiencing the whole basketball craze like everybody else is, I thought it was my duty to tell you there is a full court just over there."

Why? Why was Stiles even talking to this guy? Most people would just hand the ball back and continue on their way. One – this conversation is happening in an alleyway. Stiles has seen _Criminal Minds_. Two – gorgeous-alleyway-guy-please-just-give-me-a-name-also-if-i-could-hear-your-voice-that'd-be-great was not giving him any indication of wanting to participate in said conversation. And three – it was in an alleyway. At 7 pm. Sure there was some sunlight left, but the orange glow that tinted the sky preceded darkness.

Which do _not_ mix well with alleyways.

"Maybe I like the privacy." The guy finally spoke up. And _oh_. Looks like his voice does things to Stiles' libido too.

"Fair. And maybe you're not very good. You know, not wanting to embarrass yourself in front of the guys. Which – wow, I'm rude. Totally not implying you're a bad basketball player. I'm just saying, if you're going to play in an alleyway by yourself, you either are ashamed of your abilities or you're a serial killer."

Sexy-voice-please-whisper-something-in-my-ear-I-need-it-now's lips quirked into an almost smile. Stiles couldn't help but to grin. He felt weirdly accomplished, especially because it wasn't even a real smile.

"Or maybe I really just wanted the privacy."

Stiles hummed his agreement before narrowing his eyes. "Does that mean you want me to go? I'm not usually subtle at things. I can just leave, you know."

The guy turned toward the net and Stiles could see the same small grin on his face. He dribbled twice before shooting, and…okay lucky. All net.

"You're choice. But do you stop to talk to all strangers? Are you the serial killer?"

Stiles face burst into a smile as he chuckled. "Very funny dude. And no I do not. Maybe I just thought it was interesting that you like to shoot hoops_in an alleyway_."

"Hmm. Maybe."

Stiles watched as the guy walked a bit farther away, turning and shooting at the same time. Again, all net.

"Jeez you're really good. I take back the 'you were embarrassed of your skills' possibility."

"Doesn't that only leave serial killer?"

"Damn. You're right. I guess I'll – ugh – what the heck?" Stiles barely managed to catch the basketball that was thrown at him. After stumbling a bit (because that must have looked _great_), he shoots we-will-marry-if-I-ever-find-out-your-name-back-alleyway-guy a puzzled look. Dude just stared back.

"You make that shot and I won't kill you." He shruged, all casual like and with an air of total uncaring. Damn. Why does that look look so good on him?

"Umm pretty sure this is a terrible idea. I don't remember the last time I shot a basketball."

Guy just smirked and made a 'go ahead' gesture toward the hoop. "How do you know I've seen other people play? Maybe I live in this alley? I won't judge."

"Unlikely. If this were a gym I may have believed you. But you do not live in an alley."

"Don't' think you can compliment your way out of this. Take the damn shot."

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Fine. And you know what, maybe I will make it. If only to spite you."

Again, his lips quirked upwards in what could have been a smile. Damn. Stiles was going to get one out of him if it was the last thing he did. He was already a bit memorized by those lips.

Stiles turned back to the hoop and concentrated. What was the rule he used to know? Aim for one of the four corners of that box thing? Shit, he really should have paid more attention in gym class. Scott was always the one who was better at basketball.

Well, and every other sport they played. Sigh.

He closed his eyes and dribbled twice. He focused on the corner of the box and threw it. It hit the rim and quickly bounced off.

"Fuck," Stiles mumbled as the guy was suddenly right where the ball was about to touch the ground, dribbling it and making a perfect lay-up. Stiles was unimpressed extremely turned on.

"Okay. First, rude. You make me feel like a thousand times inferior to you. Second – no way anybody was going to make that shot on the first try."

"Well then how about I try?"

The guy didn't wait, merely crowded against Stiles and forced him back. The touch of solid muscle everywhere had Stiles practically hyperventilating. He took the shot, and, again, it was all net.

Before the guy could say anything, Stiles found himself zeroing in on his bulking arms. Particularly, what was written on his bicep. The word was small, probably why Stiles never noticed it before.

"Oh my god. You must be more obsessed than I am! I can't believe you actually quoted Game of Thrones on your skin."

The guy followed Stiles eyes down to his arm before tensing and shifting away. He went for another lay up, and Stiles wondered if it was more to make some distance between them.

"It's not from Game of Thrones. I hate how that guy used the word."

"That guy?! You mean George R.R. Martin?! Only one of the best authors _ever_! I'm pretty sure you must have read or watched it, seeing as Martin made the word."

"Martin did not make up the word. He borrowed it."

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows. He had considered himself a die hard fan, how did he not know about this?

"From what language?"

The guy paused and tensed. "A very old one. And it's not even really a language. Just a phrase that used to be said."

"Does it still mean mother in your…phrasing?"

"Mhysa is more of a feeling. It's the love and devotion you feel towards your mother."

Stiles nodded. He could tell the other guy felt uncomfortable about the topic. He wasn't sure why, but there was definitely a shift and a tension in the air.

"Thank you for telling me." Stiles mumbled, looking to the ground. He suddenly whipped out his phone and realized he had been talking to this guy for almost ten minutes.

"I should get going though. Wasn't exactly planning on stopping in this alleyway, you know? I'm Stiles by the way. Never got around to names, did we?" He laughed nervously, hand coming up to touch the back of his neck.

The guy looked slightly hurt for a second before nodding. "My name's Derek."

"Like the player! Is that why you don't play here? Don't want people calling you a second rate Derek? Wow, that was extremely rude, too. I'm sorry. I'm stopping now."

Stiles let a few seconds tick by. Derek raised his perfectly perfect eyebrows in a questioning manner.

"Okay so maybe I'm not done. Maybe you should talk? Okay I'm just going to - "

"What do you know about Derek Hale?" Derek asked, casually shooting the ball and, again, scoring perfectly. He continued shooting while Stiles talked. Stiles didn't think he's missed a shot yet. Man, horrible luck having the same name as Derek Hale and still being good at basketball. Stiles knew he at least hated being overshadowed.

"Truthfully? Not much. Except I only here his name like _all the time_ now. I seriously can't even go to the study dens without having to hear people blatantly lust over the guy. There were these three girls I passed in the hallway this morning talking about what color he looked best in. Apparently it's blue. I couldn't help but gag."

_Yes. That was the biggest almost smile yet!_

"And you're annoyed by all of this, why?" Derek's tone was light and playful. Stiles literally just wanted to whip out his phone and record it.

"I'm sure Hale's amazing. But seriously, people shouldn't be so obsessed. It's not healthy."

"Maybe you're just jealous?"

Stiles sighed. "Maybe. I was on the lacrosse team in high school and was always on the bench. There was this one guy, his name was Jackson and he was the star player for a while. Everybody was obsessed with him. But the guy was an absolute douche and treated people like shit. I wouldn't be surprised if Derek Hale acted the same way. People really just don't know how much stardom can get to people's heads. I don't think you've missed a shot yet, by the way."

Derek turned to him and Stiles eyes widened. There, on Derek's face, was the first true smile Stiles had seen the man give.

"I think that's a fair statement. I'm sorry about your Jackson kid, by the way. But not all sports stars share the same egotism."

Stiles smiled (mostly because you can't see that smile and not also smile) before nodding his head.

"Well, if I ever meet Derek Hale I'll be sure to keep an open mind."

Derek gave a small chuckle before turning back to the hoops. He chose just to hum as a response. Regardless, Stiles couldn't get his smile to leave his face.

"Well I'll see you around, Derek." He started walking away with a small wave. Derek turned back to him, grinning, before questioning, "Are you watching the game on Saturday?"

"I'm getting the feeling that it would be social suicide not to. So yeah, I will be. At least it's an excuse to go drink, right?"

Stiles watched as Derek's face momentarily fell before he schooled it back to something semi cheerful.

"Okay. I'm sure you'll get a kick out of it. See you around Stiles."

Stiles furrowed his eyebrows before shrugging the comment off. He smiled at Derek before turning away.

"See you Derek!"

Exiting the alleyway, Stiles felt a lot more excited about basketball than when he had entered it. He may already be making excuses in his head to walk through that alleyway again. As much as possible.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Should I continue this? How long should Stiles go before finding out that Derek is Derek?


End file.
